Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?Without its climax, death, what savour hathLife? an impeccable machine, exactHe paces an inane and pointless pathTo glut brute appetites, his sole contentHow tedious were he fit to comprehendHimself! More, this our noble elementOf fire in nature, love in spirit, unkennedLife hath no spring, no axle, and no end.

His body a bloody-ruby radiantWith noble passion, sun-souled LuciferSwept through the dawn colossal, swift aslantOn Eden's imbecile perimeter.He blessed nonentity with every curseAnd spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,Breathed life into the sterile universe,With Love and Knowledge drove out innocenceThe Key of Joy is disobedience.